


Fantasy Aftermath

by oly_chic



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Emotional Hurt, M/M, One Night Stands, post interface
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 06:36:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oly_chic/pseuds/oly_chic
Summary: Jazz wakes after a night of drunken passion with Prowl. What should he do when he sees no alignment between his ways of one-night stands with a mech who surely does no such thing?





	Fantasy Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own Transformers.
> 
> This is for the PxJ Dreamwidth community anniversary prompts. <strike>The prompt for 9/6 is “Aftermath.”</strike> Whoops, misread the instructions as 9/6 instead of 9/11 ("day 6").
> 
> I wanted to write something that didn’t need a master architecture skillset in writing, like my other open fics. Plus I hope these challenges will be like a warm up to get back to those.

Jazz shot straight up, his panic overriding his throbbing helmache. He had instantly recognized the red chevron that greeted his vision when he first onlined, having well memorized the shape and hue of it. Somehow his sudden movements didn’t wake Prowl.

He stared for a klik before skittering out of the berth until his back thumped against the wall. His hand swiftly covered his mouth to keep him from involuntarily uttering “oomph,” as if that would wake Prowl when his ungraceful movements hadn’t. The high-grade energon must have taken a large toll on the mech who probably last night had his first drink in vorns, especially if it got to Jazz.

What had he done to Prowl? More importantly, what would he _do _to Prowl? It wasn’t like Special Ops agents were known for serious commitments, and off the top of his helm he couldn’t picture Prowl accepting anything less than that. That wasn’t even mentioning how his memories of what happened last night were sketchy at best. He hoped Prowl didn’t remember where Jazz had blanks, adding awkwardness on top of the upcoming messy moment.

Jazz fervently worked on recalling the start of it all and not get lost in the hitch in his spark at the idea he somehow pulled off a fantasy – one that was supposed to only remain a fantasy. Unfortunately the window of time where that had to have happened had the biggest black gaps. It was as if the energon tapered off as the fantasy played out, although apparently it hadn’t faded enough for Jazz to realize what the morning after might look like.

Now it was the morning after, and so far it looked like Jazz was a scared mechling and his crush was a passed out guest in his quarters. He cycled his venting slowly, willing himself to act like the responsible mech he was when he wasn’t the party lover. What did a post-irresponsible behavior responsible mech do? This was a first, doing something that usually was a one-night stand with someone he couldn’t fathom appreciating that.

He thought hard and came up with nothing he was prepared to do. Waking Prowl and having “the talk” was probably the worst thing right now, with very present hangovers. Oh well, he tried. Jazz grabbed a datapad and scribbled “let’s talk later, I’ve got to make sure the party hasn’t left anyone compromised.” He added a note on how to lock his door, placed it by Prowl, and then left.

He greeted everyone he passed by with his usual cheeriness, and dwelled on his problems in-between. Hangover, incomplete memories, and an upcoming conversation with his crush that was probably going to be disastrous. He was trained in how to smooth talk an enemy into thinking he was a friend or superior, and he was skilled in how to identify someone who shared his principles and then leave that one-night stand partner feeling good about their activities. Neither applied here.

Eventually he made it to his office after making sure everyone was okay, and all those reporting to duty were dependable to carry out their responsibilities. Almost all were, and there were very few he had to rotate out.

It wasn’t a very good hiding place, all things considered. However, given Prowl’s state that he left him in like a coward, Prowl was probably not coming here anytime soon. Unbeknownst to anyone who thought they knew him, except ironically Prowl and also Optimus, Jazz was extremely diligent about staying on top of his work. There was nothing waiting for him, so all he had time to do was think.

Ideas for how to talk to Prowl churned over and over again. Should he be his usual smooth self, matter-of-factly, or more of a listener? The more he thought of being a listener, the more he thought about how Prowl may try swaying him to be committed.

Was that so bad, a stray thought asked. Jazz shook his helm, arguing that yes it was because agents didn’t risk breaking the sparks of loved one by choosing to have no loved ones. Wherever that stray thought came from, it pointed out that Jazz hadn’t worked a particularly dangerous job in quite some time, and as a high ranking officer, he shouldn’t risk compromising the division’s structure by sending himself on one. He did work missions at times, but only those that required his unmatched skillset. Even still, sometimes those assignments plagued him.

Would it be so bad to have someone to come back to at the end of those missions, someone capable of hearing out his problems and offering real comfort? Prowl may not be known for comfort, but Jazz had seen traces of it in their private interactions. Leaning in to close the distance, a lingering look, and even the soft finger touch during a particularly hard even to relive. Based on that, perhaps for once Jazz might not be almost completely alone to face his demons. Prowl already gave him some of what little an officer of his problems and rank needed but couldn’t find elsewhere.

He leaned forwarded, creating a new fantasy centered on Prowl. This was a fantasy that never occurred to him, to have someone there for him. He knew Prowl saw the plans beforehand and the post-mission debriefings and never backed away, not even blinking an optic.

Suddenly Jazz was lost in that fantasy, imagining coming home and Prowl greeting him, already knowing Jazz’s passcode because Jazz had complete trust in him, and curling up at his side. Prowl would brush Jazz’s audial horn, whispering comforting words between Jazz recount of all events that he couldn’t put in a report. The more he pictured it, the more he felt a new kind of intoxication.

Was it selfish to think this way? It wasn’t like Jazz intended to only take and not give. The idea of being there just as much for Prowl as he was for him drew him in just as much, thinking how he might comfort a Praxian. Would entwining their fingers be enough as Prowl laid his helm on Jazz’s shoulder, or is Prowl the kind of mech who secretly longs for a deep hug and snuggle? He pictured how he might snuggle Prowl without touching the sensitive doorwings, how his arms would curl around the other’s body.

The world he vividly built up suddenly dropped around him, the tranquility shattering at a knock. Again, he shook his helm to cast aside thoughts clingy to him. “Come in,” he jovially welcomed after resetting his vocalizer.

Of all the mechs to walk into his office, of course it was Prowl. His optics were lighter, and his helm hung just the slightest bit lower. His gait was a tiny bit more stilted.

His concerns were immediate. “Do you need help?”

“Good morning and no, thank you,” Prowl greeted. He stopped short of the chair instead of sitting down. “I thought it might be best to discuss last night sooner than later, least we think of too many ideas.”

“Oh yeah? Do you want to start, or do you want me to start?” Jazz hoped Prowl could start, so that perhaps Jazz could surprise him and agree. The idea of agreeing surprised even him, having only thought of the fantasy after this conversation happened and not the actual conversation. Hope rose up in him.

“I will,” Prowl stated before pausing. He shifted. “I don’t know how to go about this, I must confess. Despite that, I feel that you deserve a straight forward decision.” Prowl’s optics looked at Jazz’s visor, piercing it straight into his optics. “I haven’t had relations with anyone in a long time, and there’s a reason why.”

Although Prowl said he would be straight forward, he paused again, so Jazz nodded to prompt him to continue.

Prowl’s finger brushed along the back of the chair. “My position requires me to make decisions that don’t always leave me in a satisfactory state, and even worse when they result in high casualties. To the end, I have not felt comfortable allowing anyone to be close enough to see that.”

Jazz’s spark had a sinking feeling. “Okay…?”

“That persists even now. I enjoyed our time together, for what I can recall, but I think we should leave it as a one-time occurrence. I don’t… I can’t…” Prowl’s optics flickered down before returning slowly to Jazz’s face. “I hope that doesn’t cause you any distress.”

His world darkened for a moment as his hope fractured into a million pieces. For Prowl to be at a loss for words spoke volumes. Thanks to all his training he easily managed to keep his composure. “I want you to be comfortable, Prowl. I wouldn’t want to cause any problems between us.”

Prowl’s helm dipped down for a klik, as if tension in his neck was released, before fully righting itself up. “I thought you might see it that way, given what I’ve heard about Special Ops agents, but I was not sure. When it comes to a mech’s private life, I try to avoid gossip. For what I’ve heard I’m thankful it’s true.”

Jazz could only nod.

“Again, thank you for understanding. Now, where are we on those post battle reports?”

Now on auto mode to get through it, Jazz answered, “My part is done.”

“Yes, of course. Your agents are swift with their reports, and I know you are equally as quick to make sure you’ve analyzed their reports to verify there’s no additional risks factors. I shall return to my office now. Will I see you during break?”

Jazz thought he detected hope, but with his turned to dust, it was hard to digest. “I don’t know, there’s some extracurricular things for me to do for the orn after battle. Even when we win.” At the sight of Prowl’s shoulders rolling forward, Jazz impulsively added, “I’ll try to see you then.”

“That would be appreciated. Good luck with your extracurricular activities.” With that Prowl left.

Jazz sat alone, wondering now what to do with the most dangerous fantasy he’d ever had. Try as he might, he feared it might become his newest demon.


End file.
